Gospel Story Finder

In that old home, we knew that our father loved our mother. That was another of the great lessons of my boyhood. I have no recollection of ever hearing him speak unkindly to her or of her. He encouraged her in her individual Church activities and in neighborhood and civic responsibilities. She had much of native talent, and he encouraged her to use it. Her comfort was his constant concern. We looked upon them as equals, companions who worked together and loved and appreciated one another as they loved us.

She likewise encouraged him, did everything in the world to make him happy. At the age of fifty, she developed cancer. He was solicitous of her every need. I recall our family prayers, with his tearful pleadings and our tearful pleadings.

Of course there was no medical insurance then. He would have spent every dollar he owned to help her. He did, in fact, spend very much. He took her to Los Angeles in search of better medical care. But it was to no avail.

That was sixty-two years ago, but I remember with clarity my brokenhearted father as he stepped off the train and greeted his grief-stricken children. We walked solemnly down the station platform to the baggage car, where the casket was unloaded and taken by the mortician. We came to know even more about the tenderness of our father’s heart. This has had an effect on me all of my life.

I also came to know something of death—the absolute devastation of children losing their mother—but also of peace without pain and the certainty that death cannot be the end of the soul.

Kate looked at the kitchen table covered with dirty dishes, trying to decide where to start. “It’s hard to believe our school vacation is almost over,” she sighed as she started to stack the plates.
“I know what you mean,” Becky said. “It’s our last week of vacation, and we still haven’t gone to the new water park. Do you think Mom will take us there if we ask?”
“Maybe,” Kate said as she carried the plates to the sink. “But I know Mom’s really busy this week. And we’ve done a lot of fun things during our vacation. We just didn’t go to the water park.”
Becky followed Kate back to the table. She watched her sister gather up the glasses and utensils. “Yes—if you call driving all day to get to a family reunion fun,” she muttered.
“It was fun,” said Kate. “You’re just being ornery.” She picked up four glasses and headed back to the sink. Becky followed.
“It was all right,” Becky agreed, “but I bet we’re the only kids in our whole school who haven’t gone to the water park.”
Losing patience, Kate turned to Becky. “Will you please stop complaining and help me with the dishes?”
Rolling her eyes, Becky started to fill the sink as their mom came in.
“Thank you for doing the dishes,” Mom said. “I appreciate all the work the two of you do.”
“No problem, Mom.” Kate smiled.
“Yeah,” Becky agreed. “We were just saying it’s too bad we never made it to the new water park.”
“That is a shame,” Mom said. She thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll make you a deal. I have some errands to run tomorrow morning. If you two will clean your rooms while I’m gone, I’ll stop and buy tickets to the water park, and we can go when I get home.”
“That would be great!” Becky exclaimed.
“It’s a deal,” Kate said.
The next morning Kate jumped out of bed. Mom had already left. “Good morning,” Kate greeted her grandmother.
“Good morning. Are you ready for breakfast?” Grandma asked.
Kate nodded. “Becky and I are going to clean our rooms. Then Mom is going to take us to the new water park.”
“That’s what your mother told me,” said Grandma. “Would you go wake Becky?”
“What’s the big hurry?” Becky grumped when Kate tried to talk her into getting up.
“We need to eat breakfast and start cleaning.”
“No, we don’t. You heard what Mom said. She’s picking up the tickets while she’s out. After she has already bought the tickets, she won’t tell us we can’t go. So we really don’t need to clean our rooms.”
Kate frowned. “But we made a deal.”
“If you’re so worried, you go clean your room. Tell Grandma I’ll have breakfast later. Right now I need to sleep.”
Kate trudged back to the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked.
“Becky says she’s not going to clean. She thinks Mom will let us go even if we don’t clean our rooms,” Kate explained.
“What do you think?” Grandma asked.
“We said we would clean our rooms,” said Kate, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “you’ve made your decision, and you’ll have to let Becky make hers. Sometimes we want to make other people’s decisions for them, but we can’t.”
After breakfast Kate marched to her room. She decided to start by moving everything off the floor. At first she was angry at Becky for not cleaning, but soon her thoughts turned to the job she was doing.
When Mom arrived home, Kate was organizing books on a shelf.
“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked.
“Watching television,” Kate answered.
“Isn’t she cleaning?”
Kate shook her head.
Just then Becky appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Mom,” she said cheerfully. “Did you get the tickets?”
“Yes I did,” said Mom. “Did you clean?”
“I was just coming to start.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Becky looked at Kate and smiled an I-told-you-so smile. Her smile disappeared when Mom added, “You can clean while Kate and I are at the water park.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, so you may not come with us.”
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. “But didn’t you already buy me a ticket?”
“I bought tickets for the girls who kept their promises. Did you keep your promise?”
Becky hung her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you would let me go anyway.”
“You made a choice. You’ll have to live with the consequences.”
Tears streamed down Becky’s face. “That’s not fair.”
Mom put her arms around Becky. “I know it isn’t what you want,” Mom said, “but it is fair.”
Becky watched as Mom and Kate left. “I really wanted to go,” she said.
Grandma nodded. “You made a bad choice. What you need to do is learn from your mistake. If your mom had taken you to the water park, you would have thought it’s all right to make promises you don’t intend to keep. And it isn’t. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Now, I have a deal for you, if you are interested.”
Becky looked up. “What is it?”
“If you’ll go clean your room, when you’re done, we’ll bake some cookies for the family.”
“It’s a deal,” Becky said, heading toward her room. “And this time I mean it.”

Civil government. This was another discussion group that Chauncey belonged to and provided focus for much of his reading. In part it was something of a debating society, organized along lines similar to the model United Nations of today. He notes at one point that he “gained Montana for my state to defend hereafter.” It is not surprising, since 1895 was the year of the constitutional convention prior to statehood in Utah, that these young people organized themselves as a mock constitutional convention. One of the hot topics of discussion was female suffrage, which Chauncey defended. An indication of how opinion was divided on this subject is found in his diary entry for February 28: “I quit at 7:00 and went to Civil Government where I upheld woman suffrage. The house was in disorder. The vote stood 21 to 21. The president decided in favor of woman suffrage.”

Oliver Granger was accustomed to having the authority to get things done. Before joining the Church in the 1830s, he had been a county sheriff, a colonel in the militia, and a licensed exhorter in his church. After joining, he served two missions and was a member of the Kirtland high council. But then Joseph Smith gave Oliver the almost impossible task of settling the business affairs of Church leaders who had been driven out of Kirtland.4
Feeling like a failure, Oliver went to Joseph and heard the Lord say, “I remember my servant Oliver Granger; … and when he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase” (D&C 117:12–13). From Oliver, we learn that the result God is looking for is not always for us to come up with the right solution to our challenges, but for us to grow from facing them.

My heart leapt on 7 November 1981 as I received my mission call to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission. When I opened that letter, my world froze in place, and all I could think of was my mission.
I had almost everything ready. Again and again I reviewed the list of things I needed. I made a little mark on the list as I put each item in my suitcase. But even with my careful planning, I completely forgot one essential thing.
It wasn’t until two hours before I was to depart that I realized I needed some money to travel from my home in Quilpué to the Missionary Training Center in Santiago, Chile, which was about two hours away. I had already used all my savings and the funds my parents had given me.
My bishop wasn’t home when I ran to see if he could lend me the money. I didn’t need very much, but at that moment it seemed like a fortune.
I knelt down in my room in anguish and told my Heavenly Father what was happening, although I knew He already knew. When I got up from my knees, I was confident that He was going to help me solve my problem. I was a faithful tithe payer, and I knew the Lord would open the windows of heaven and pour out blessings upon me until there was no room to receive them (see Mal. 3:10).
My mother called to me and asked me to go through my closet and decide which things I wanted to leave there and which my sister could use. While I was sorting my clothes, I found a little purse so small it fit in the palm of my hand. I remembered that I had received it many years ago and that in it I had hidden my first savings.
I opened it and—what a blessing! Tucked neatly inside was some money I had put there many years earlier. It would be enough to pay for two fares to Santiago. I invited my father, who is not a member of the Church, to accompany me to the Missionary Training Center.
The years have passed, but I still remember this answer to my prayer. It has helped me remember how great are the power and mercy of our Father in Heaven.

A young woman named Thricia felt feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness after doing something wrong. She began to listen to Church music, watch Church videos, and study gospel talks more intently, but the feelings didn’t go away. Eventually she decided to talk to her branch president. As she met with him, she felt the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ for her. Now she feels grateful that through the Savior’s Atonement, she can be forgiven of her sins and receive help to rise above her weaknesses. “What I hold on to right now is that He is always with me in this journey,” she says.

The staff in the Missionary Department recently received a letter from President Thomas R. Murray of the Missouri Independence Mission concerning the missionary service of Elder and Sister Ronald Smith. He wrote:
"The Smiths left a legacy in Nebraska City, Nebraska. They baptized eighteen people, reactivated a large number in two wards, traveled many miles per month, contributed to the local newspaper, gave meaningful community service, motivated the Scouting program, strengthened the ward leadership, fellowshipped and friendshipped, and provided great public relations for the Church in the community."
Where could the Smiths have spent a more productive, profitable time or experienced more fulfilling service?

Upholding the standards of the Church is a daily goal for Sister Hermin of the Djakarta Selatan Branch, who has had to support her three boys alone. She was an inactive member of a Protestant church when a Latter-day Saint relative asked her if she would like to hear the gospel message.

“Her question reminded me of something that had happened ten years earlier when I was twenty years old,” says Sister Hermin. “I had asked my mother then where I could learn of the gospel of Jesus Christ. My mother had told me to be patient because the day would come, she said, when one or two people would come to my home to teach me the gospel.

“I was baptized a member of the Church in December 1985, three months after I first met the missionaries. I was married by then and had one son, Mindo. He and my husband later joined the Church.”

Eventually, a second son, Nando, was born, who joined the Church when he was old enough. Their third child, a daughter, died when she was a year old.

Losing a struggle with alcohol, Sister Hermin’s husband was unable to support his family and fell away from the Church. Sister Hermin became the family provider by selling watermelon from a street cart—something she still does. Her husband died in 1989, while she was expecting their third son, Martin.

With her three boys, she lives in a small, two-room shack sandwiched between some dilapidated shops at the edge of a busy road. She supplements her income by renting out her small home in another part of the neighborhood.

Striving to make the shack livable and a haven from the noisy world outside is a challenge. Once, a section of the shack collapsed, but her branch president helped her make repairs.

“The branch members are always available to help me if I need it,” she says. “But my greatest help comes from being active in the Church. I enjoy the lesson material, and I appreciate the spiritual education that the boys receive. My boys have been through some hard times, but their attitude toward life is good because of our activity in the Church. And family home evening isn’t just one day a week with us. We get together almost every night and read the scriptures and sing together.

“I know from experience that whenever I feel sad or troubled, if I read the scriptures and sing some hymns, my burden will be lifted, and I will be happy again.”

“You want a ride home, Bryce?” Kendall asked as we left the Little League field. “I have my bike here. You can ride with me.”
“Sure. I’ll pedal partway, if you want.”
The field and bleachers were clearing fast because ours had been the last game. Kendall’s bike was chained to the back of the bleachers. A few feet away was another one, lying in the dirt. It was one of the nicest bikes I’d seen.
“I wonder whose bike that is,” I muttered.
“That’s Dusty’s,” Kendall grumbled, shaking his head disgustedly. “His dad bought it for him last month. Dusty just dumped it there before the game. I saw him leave with TJ. If I had a bike like that, I sure wouldn’t leave it lying around in the dirt like a pile of junk.”
I looked at the bike again. Its bright yellow-and-black paint was beautiful. Grabbing the handlebars, I hefted it to an upright position. For a moment I just admired it; then I swung my leg over and settled down on the seat.
I looked around. We were the only ones still there. I gripped the handlebars and hunched over, pretending to be flying down the road. I straightened up and told Kendall, “I’m going to ride it home.”
“Huh?”
“Dusty lives just a block from me. I’ll drop it by his place on my way home. He’ll thank me. Let’s go.”
Kendall and I had planned to go right home, but on the way, we passed the construction site of the new shopping center. Heavy equipment had been brought in for digging the footings. There were huge piles of dirt and sand everywhere. It was an awesome place to do dirt biking. The construction crew wasn’t around. …
We had meant to stay only five minutes or so, but once I got started, I couldn’t quit. “I’m going to try that big hill in the middle, where they’ve started digging the foundation,” I called to Kendall.
“You’ll kill yourself, it’s too steep.”
“I’ll make it easy on this bike!”
But from the top, it looked higher and steeper than it had from below. When I looked at Kendall, who stood at the bottom, gazing up anxiously, I almost chickened out. But I’d worked hard to get up there, and Kendall was watching, so I decided to give it a try.
“Watch out for that stack of rebar over to the side,” Kendall shouted.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed off. Immediately I wished I had left good enough alone. Dusty’s bike went down the hill as if shot from a gun. It was all I could do to stay on as the bike bounced and swerved down the rocky dirt.
A little past halfway down the hill, I lost my balance and took a tumble. I went in one direction; the bike went in another. Everything was a spinning, twisting blur. My flailing sprawl ended when I crashed against a rock at the bottom of the hill.
“Are you all right, Bryce?” Kendall was kneeling beside me, his face white.
I groaned and tried to sit up. A banging pain throbbed in my right knee. As I grimaced, my teeth ground on dirt and sand. I spit to clean out my mouth. “My leg’s killing me,” I moaned.
After I got up and walked around a bit, I felt better, even though my knee was still throbbing. I pulled up my pant leg and discovered a two-inch scrape. It was bleeding some, but it wasn’t too bad. “I think I’ll be OK,” I finally muttered. “Where’s Dusty’s bike?”
The bike was twisted on its side, next to the pile of iron rebar. As soon as I saw it, I knew that it was badly damaged. I pulled it up. The handlebars were bent at an angle.
Kendall and I were able to straighten the handlebars, but as we were doing it, we saw that two spokes were broken on the front wheel and its rim was crumpled. The tire had a small rip in the side. I had a sick feeling in my stomach.
“What are you going to do?” Kendall asked me.
I shook my head slowly, wishing that I had never seen Dusty’s bike. “Maybe we can fix it,” I said hopefully.
Kendall studied the front wheel more closely, then shook his head. “That thing’s totally wasted, Bryce.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have just left it lying there in the dirt,” I snapped, trying to blame Dusty for the accident instead of me. “He’s lucky somebody didn’t just steal it. I’m going to take it back to the ballpark. He can pick it up there—if he still wants it. Hey—he might even forget that he left it there.”
I didn’t tell anybody at home about my accident. I did my best not to limp. But every time I took a step and felt the pain, I remembered what I’d done to Dusty’s bike. I tried to rationalize that it was his own fault for leaving it there, but that didn’t get rid of the guilty feeling.
Before Primary the next day, I heard Dusty talking to some guys. “They trashed my bike,” he growled, hitting his clenched fist into the palm of his other hand.
“Well, why’d you leave it at the park in the first place?” Tyson asked.
“I forgot it—don’t you ever forget things?”
“I’d never forget my new bike. If I did, that would be the last time my dad ever got me anything.”
“Well, if I ever find out who did it,” Dusty muttered angrily, “I’m going to bust him in the nose.”
I looked at Kendall. He looked away and started down the hall for class. Ducking my head, I followed him.
I had a hard time thinking about the Primary lesson, and when sacrament meeting started, I tried to crowd thoughts of Dusty and his bike out of my mind. But as the priests were preparing the sacrament, I thought of a home evening lesson Mom had given. She’d talked about the sacrament and pointed out that we should always take it worthily. Taking it unworthily was mocking Jesus.
Until that Sunday, the sacrament was just something we did Sundays. It was just bread and water that the deacons brought around. But that morning I couldn’t help thinking of the broken bike, and I knew that I wasn’t worthy to take the sacrament. Not until I made things right with Dusty.
I swallowed hard and bowed my head, feeling horribly ashamed. Heavenly Father knew about the bike, and I knew that I couldn’t take the bread and water and renew my covenants with Him while pretending that I hadn’t taken and damaged Dusty’s bike.
When Mom handed me the bread tray, I started to reach for a piece. Then that sick feeling inside me welled up bigger than ever. I pulled my hand back. Without looking at Mom, I slowly shook my head and stared down at my hands. When the water came a few minutes later, I shook my head again.
It was funny that as soon as the sacrament was over and the deacons and the priests had gone to sit with their families, I felt better. I didn’t feel good about what I had done to Dusty’s bike, but I was glad that I’d had the courage not to mock Jesus by taking the sacrament just so that people wouldn’t look at me funny. I also realized that I was going to have to tell Dusty what had happened.
I walked home after the meeting, reaching the house before the rest of my family did. I didn’t wait to change my clothes—I headed straight for the garage, grabbed my bike, and pushed it over to Dusty’s.
My hand shook a little as I rang the doorbell. Sister Baker answered it. “Is Dusty around?” I rasped nervously.
“Sure, Bryce,” she said pleasantly. “Why don’t you come on in?”
“I need to talk to him out here.”
A moment later Dusty came bounding out. “What’s happening, man?”
“Hi, Dusty.” I turned and nodded toward my bike. “I brought you my bike.”
“Oh, you heard mine got trashed. I couldn’t believe that anybody would do that to somebody else’s bike.”
“Yeah,” I gulped, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I thought you could use mine until yours gets fixed.”
For a moment he stared at me and then at my bike and then back at me. “You don’t have to do that, Bryce.” He sounded surprised and really sincere. “Shoot, that’s nice of you, though. Thanks a lot!”
I shook my head and looked at the ground. “No, Dusty, I’m not all that nice. I wish I was. You see, I”—I swallowed hard and wet my lips—“I’m the one that smashed up your new bike.”
I looked up. Dusty was staring at me. He wasn’t angry, just shocked. “I was going to bring it home to you. I saw it at the park and figured I’d ride it here—you know, as kind of a favor.” I was speaking fast and furiously, wanting to explain before he decided to bust me in the nose. “Then I came to where they’re building that new shopping center, and I started riding the dirt hills. I wasn’t trying to mess up your bike or anything.”
I told him everything. I even showed him the scrape on my knee to prove that I wasn’t lying. Dusty didn’t say much. He just listened. “That’s why I brought you my bike,” I said sadly. “I’ll pay for what it costs to fix up yours, but it’ll take me a little while to earn the money. That’s why I figured you needed another bike until then. It’s not as good as yours, but it’ll get you around. I’m sorry, Dusty. I hadn’t meant for things to end up this way.”
Dusty stepped over to my bike and walked around it, looking it over.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you still wanted to bust me in the nose,” I muttered.
He shrugged. “I’ve thought better about that.” He cuffed my arm. “I still think this is pretty nice of you. Most guys wouldn’t even have told me.”
“Well, I am sorry. And I’ll make up for it.”
I turned and started down his driveway, leaving my bike behind. “Hey, Bryce,” he called after me. I stopped and turned. “Do you want to play a little catch tomorrow after school?”
I hesitated and then smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”
As I returned home, I was smiling, both inside and out. That deep down sick feeling was gone, and I knew that next Sunday I’d be able to take the sacrament—and I’d appreciate it.

When I was a boy, my mother had to go to work at Garfield Smelter and work like a man to help support the seven children. She worked the graveyard shift as much as she could, I’m sure to be with us during the day. I don’t know when the poor woman slept. One Saturday morning, she got off work about 7:00 or 8:00 A.M. She went to bed for a couple of hours and then got up. She had invited all her relatives to dinner. There must have been 35 or 40. She decorated the tables and arranged the chairs and put all the dishes and silverware out. She cooked and baked all day long. The dirty pots and pans and dishes stacked up.

Everyone came to dinner, and after dinner all the dirty dishes were brought into the kitchen. The food was cleared and stacked on the table and cupboards; then the kitchen door was closed and the family began to visit. It was about 8:00 P.M.

I remember standing all alone in the kitchen. In my young mind, I thought: My mother worked all night; she has worked all day to get this dinner. When everyone leaves, she will have to do the dishes and put the food away. It will take two or three hours, and that’s not fair. Then I thought, I will do them.

I washed the dishes, did the silverware, the glassware. We didn’t have an electric dishwasher; ours was a manual dishwasher, and that night I was manual. I used a half-dozen dish towels. I was drenched from head to foot. I put the food away, cleaned off the table and drainboards; then I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. When I was finished, I thought the kitchen was immaculate. It took about three hours.

Then I heard the chairs shuffling, and everyone left. The front door closed, and I heard my mother coming to the kitchen. I was pleased and thought she would be. The door swung open, and even at the age of 11, I recognized that she was startled. She looked around the kitchen, looked at me, and then there was a look I didn’t recognize at the time. I do now. It was something like “Thanks. I am tired. I think you understand, and I love you.” And she came over and hugged me. There was a light in her eye and a warmth in my heart. I learned it is a wonderful feeling to turn on the lights in our parents’ eyes.

What would be a good reason to get up early on a Thursday morning during summer break? For hundreds of youth from Orange County, California, USA, and Tijuana, Mexico, the reason was simple: a youth conference unlike any they’d ever experienced.
That morning, the youth from California boarded buses and crossed the border to gather with the youth in Tijuana. From the moment they got together, the youth from both countries hugged and high-fived each other. Throughout that first day of the conference, they performed baptisms together in the Tijuana Mexico Temple, worked side-by-side at an orphanage, played games together, and enjoyed a makeshift soccer game.
On Friday, the youth, in conjunction with a charitable organization in Mexico, helped build four homes for four deserving families in Tijuana. With hammers, paintbrushes, and sweat, they saw a house take shape through their hard work.
At the end the day, they were able to present the keys to each family, and each home was dedicated to the Lord. Each family was also given a framed quote signed by the youth and leaders that read, “Se necesitan manos para hacer una casa, pero se necesitan corazones para crear un hogar” (“It takes hands to make a house, but it takes hearts to make a home”). The youth and the families were equally blessed through this service.
In the evening, the youth enjoyed teaching one another their customs. One of the highlights for many of the California youth were the beautiful dances the Mexican stakes performed in traditional costumes.
Firesides were also held throughout the conference, translated into Spanish and English.
As the conference concluded on Saturday, the youth gathered for a morning fireside where youth from both countries combined to sing “Come unto Christ.” They sang in both English and Spanish, and many felt that this was the culmination of the entire conference—Latter-day Saint youth coming together, united as one, with the common goal of following their Savior.

While we were on an assignment in Japan, a Church leader invited us to visit his home. We were honored to have this opportunity but wondered what his wife would think of her husband’s last-minute invitation to bring visitors from Salt Lake City home. En route, the man telephoned his wife, giving her what seemed to me about 15 minutes to prepare for this unexpected company.
From the moment we stepped inside the front door, slipped off our shoes, and were graciously greeted by a young, soft-spoken Relief Society sister, I sensed a spirit of order, peace, and love. Little children scurried upstairs carrying their playthings. In this family of eight, with seven still living at home, it was clear what the family valued. Evidences of the Lord were all around—pictures of the Savior on the wall, a family photograph and picture of the temple in a prominent place, copies of well-used scriptures and Church videos neatly stacked on a nearby shelf. “The fruit of the Spirit, … love, joy, peace, … gentleness, goodness, faith,” seemed to reside in that home. I imagined the small room filled with children of all ages as parents sat around the low table to “talk of Christ, [to] rejoice in Christ, [to] preach of Christ, [to] prophesy of Christ, … that [their] children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.” I sensed the answer the children in this home would give to the question posed by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: “Do [our] children know that we love God with all our heart and that we long to see the face—and fall at the feet—of His Only Begotten Son?” I believe the response to that question in this Japanese home would be a resounding yes!

I had always been jealous of Lynn. Despite a close friendship, Lynn and I had always been in unspoken competition with each other in high school—at least, I always felt that way. I longed to be like her. She was pretty, intelligent, talented, and fun to be around. I, on the other hand, lacked confidence in my appearance and felt socially inept.
One night on my mission I knelt at my bedside, desperately asking the Lord in the first of many prayers to help me overcome this sickness. Over time, the Lord answered my prayers. I learned to value my own worth. I learned that God does not love me for my intelligence or the number of my friends or the wealth of my possessions. He loves me for myself alone.

When Nickie and James go for a walk, I always want to go too. But they say, “You can’t keep up. You walk too slow.”
So I get sad, and Mom says, “Take him along.”
But by the time I get to the mailbox, they’re already climbing the tree. When I get to the tree, they’re throwing rocks in the creek. And when I get to the creek, they’re halfway up the hill. I guess they’re right—I walk too slow.
When Mom asks who wants to take our dog, Boris, for a walk, I say, “Me! Me!” She looks worried but hands me the leash. Then Boris drags me down the stairs, and I slip on the grass, and I stub my toes on the rocks. I guess I walk too slow.
When Daddy says, “Who wants to walk to the post office with me?” I grab his hand. But Daddy’s legs are long, and I have to take three steps every time he takes one. Daddy goes for a walk, but I go for a run. I guess I walk too slow.
But when I walk with Grandpa, he takes small steps like mine. We have time to look for rocks, watch bugs, and touch the bark and moss on trees. And when I walk with Grandpa, we talk about things. I like to walk with Grandpa. He walks too slow—just like me!

My husband and I lived in the same ward as my angel mother. Each Sunday, as a member of the Relief Society presidency, I sat at the front of the Relief Society room, facing the sisters. My mother always sat in the same place on the front row.
I enjoyed watching her responses to the lessons and hearing her comments. After each meeting, she kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand. My mother and I were close, so it broke my heart when she passed away unexpectedly.
After her funeral, my emotions remained tender. When Sunday arrived, my husband asked if I would be all right attending church without him. His calling often took him away from our ward.
“I will be all right until I see Mom’s empty chair,” I said. “I don’t know if I can see that empty chair and keep my emotions under control.”
My husband suggested that I try not to look at the chair. I decided to do my best.
Everyone at church was supportive and loving. When it came time to go to Relief Society, I took my seat at the front of the room, but I kept my eyes on the floor.
As the lesson began, however, I couldn’t help but look toward my mother’s usual spot. I expected to see her empty chair, but instead I saw my ministering sister sitting in her place. She smiled at me. I felt relief and gratitude for her kindness. I was able to get through the meeting without being overcome by grief. After the meeting I thanked her.
“Seeing Mom’s empty chair was the one thing I knew I couldn’t handle today. How did you know?” I asked her.
“When I walked into the room today, I had a feeling that seeing her empty chair would be hard for you,” she replied. “So I decided to sit there.”
This kind act meant more to me than she knew. I am thankful she was in tune with the Spirit’s prompting. I know that even small acts can have a healing effect on those we minister to. I believe this is how the Savior would have us minister to each other.

To cite another example, after our fifth child was born, my wife and I did not have any more children. After more than 10 years we concluded that our family would not be any larger, which grieved us. Then one day, while my wife was in the temple, the Spirit whispered to her that she would have another child. That prophetic revelation was fulfilled about a year and a half later with the birth of our sixth child, for whom we had waited 13 years.

Several years later I was working in the commercial department of a large company. One day our manager introduced me to a new employee. He was a tall young man with gorgeous blue eyes, an easy smile, and a great sense of fashion.
I could hardly believe it when he later began to flirt with me. I felt on top of the world! On our first date, I was excited to find out that he was a drummer in a band that was experiencing some success. I also discovered that he smoked and drank, but I reasoned that, since he was not a member of the Church, it was not wrong for him.
That night when I arrived home, my thoughts were full of that beautiful young man. But as I knelt to pray, I saw my picture of the temple, and a strange feeling came over me. I ignored it and went to sleep.
The next day, when we went out together, the fact that he drank and smoked gave me a bad feeling. I was ashamed to be seated at a table with drinks, even though I hadn’t touched any of them. I felt first excited and then frustrated when he tried to kiss me. When I smelled the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath, that kiss didn’t make it past an attempt!
I knelt beside my bed to pray that night, looking at the picture of the temple. I reflected that this young man was not the type of person who could take me to the temple for an eternal marriage.
I lay down and slept, but not before happily thinking about my goal of marrying a worthy young man with whom I could establish an eternal family.
Even though the drummer was still attractive, his romantic look no longer impressed me. I knew the type of marriage I wanted.
A year later I was married in the São Paulo Temple to a worthy priesthood holder whom I love. It was worth waiting for a faithful young man who could receive with me that wonderful blessing from the Lord.

Once, at the Jordan River Temple, Elder Ashton was approached by a young man about to be married. “Do you know where you met me last?” the young man asked. “At the Utah State Prison. You spoke to the inmates at a Christmas gathering there.”
“Oh,” responded Elder Ashton, a little surprised. “What did I say to help you?”
“I don’t remember what you said,” the young man replied, “but afterwards you came down among us and shook my hand. When I realized that an Apostle of the Lord would shake the hand of a man like me, I knew I must be worth something.” This experience had marked the beginning of repentance and forgiveness for the young man.

Because of its political stability, Ivory Coast—with about 14 million inhabitants—attracts immigrants from nations throughout Africa. Christophe Mvomo was not one of those who came hoping for a better life, but he found one nevertheless.
In his native Cameroon, Christophe, an excellent student, was selected to attend a Catholic seminary. Upon graduation, he was asked to become a Catholic seminary teacher in Ivory Coast, where most people practice ancient local religions. About 30 percent of Ivorians are Christian.
After arriving in Abidjan, Christophe learned that many young people were responding favorably to missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He grew curious when several young men, including three with whom he was acquainted, were called as full-time missionaries for the Church. Christophe had questions about this new church, and he decided to “straighten out” those who were spreading its message.
“Originally his idea was to prove the Church wrong,” recalls Sister Grace Mackay, who was then serving a mission in Abidjan with her husband, Theron. “But he had sincere questions right from the start, and he was willing to learn.”
During his visits with Elder and Sister Mackay, Christophe heard answers to questions he thought had no answers. The beauty of the plan of salvation rang true, and the meaning of the Atonement became clear.
“I became converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was still a full-time teacher at a luxurious and selective Catholic seminary school,” Brother Mvomo wrote in his journal. “To live in accordance with my newfound faith, a year after I encountered the Church I resigned my teaching post. I lost all the privileges and other advantages inherent in my nine-year tenure.”
The challenges that followed tried Brother Mvomo’s faith and perseverance. “My wife, a grammar school teacher, divorced me,” he recalls. “Three times thieves broke into my apartment and stole all my belongings. My beautiful car was [wrecked] by a friend. Suddenly I found myself in desperate circumstances but resolved and committed to the Lord.”
In July 1993 Brother Mvomo was called as second counselor in the mission presidency. He has served well and with distinction, and he has continued to endure his challenges, which were lightened when he found a new teaching job.
“I know my Savior lives and died for me—for all of us,” Brother Mvomo says, noting that heaven’s blessings far outweigh earth’s trials. Out of gratitude for the Savior and His gospel, he says, “I must do all I can for Him.”

Second, cheating takes away the satisfaction of doing well in your classes. Nothing will give you more confidence in your abilities than doing well in a class by studying hard. One young chemistry student found out that someone in his chemistry lab had the answer book for all the lab experiments they would be assigned that semester. It seemed like the whole class played around in the lab and then filled in the correct answers while he did his lab work without cheating. He was made fun of, but in the end, when the class was assigned individual projects for their final grade, he was way ahead because he had actually learned the things he was supposed to have learned.